Free Death at Knytte by Jean Rowden Page B

Listen, y’r lordship, I’ll take that package for you, jus’ the way you want, I swear.’
    The smile that greeted this offer was somehow more frightening than the cold fury that preceded it, and Beddowes realized he hadn’t deflected the man’s original intent.
    ‘I think not. No, I think Fetch’n’carry has outrun his usefulness.’ He beckoned to the servant, who secured the reins before going to the rear of the carriage, where he lifted two wooden bludgeons from the boot. Giving one to his master, the man tossed the second from hand to hand, as if to show off his prowess with the weapon.
    They moved so fast that they almost caught Beddowes unawares. He began to dodge, but wasn’t in time to escape the first blow completely; the force as it hit his arm was enough to send him reeling. He teetered along the edge of the deep ditch. Unable to regain his balance sufficiently to jump it, he dropped down into the shallow mud and floundered past his two attackers, aiming to reach the horses. The beasts were still unsettled, and they might provide a diversion.
    His enemies were too quick for him. Several hard knocks struck him as he clambered out of the mire and back onto the road. The two men were getting in each other’s way when either of them alone might have finished him, but even so he was taking too much punishment. Unless he could strike back before long a lucky blow would bring him down, and then the attack could only have one end.
    Beddowes flinched as a cudgel whistled past his ear to land squarely on his shoulder; both sound and sensation led him to suspect that a bone was cracked, if not broken. There could be no future for Fetch’n’carry Cobb. If Sergeant Beddowes hoped to survive, it was time to fight for his life.
    With the blood-curdling roar that hadn’t issued from between his lips since the battle for Kandahar, Beddowesturned, his hands no longer arthritic claws but powerful bunched fists. He dove in under the bludgeon wielded by the servant, whom he judged the physically stronger of his two assailants. A full bodied blow to the belly, followed by a vicious uppercut to the jaw, put the servant out of the fight, although the victory came at the cost of a severe blow on the skull from the man’s master. He reeled dizzily, but rallied almost at once.
    He hadn’t fought in so desperate a cause for many years; the sergeant of old would have trusted in his strength, but that had been many years ago, and he’d been on meagre rations. The chance to gain a weapon was too tempting. Beddowes reached to pick up the heavy wooden stick the groom had dropped; the realization that it was a mistake came too late. It wasn’t brawn that mattered here, but brains; he should have attacked the organ grinder, not the monkey. In the time it had taken for him to deal with the servant, his master had moved into the perfect position, and now he swung with all his strength.
    The bludgeon crunched against the right side of Beddowes skull, just where the previous blow had landed. The world split apart in jagged lightning strikes. A tiny voice in his head had just time to say
‘I’m dead’
, before everything went black.

Chapter Seven
    ‘L ady Pickhurst,’ Jonah was all formality. A few feet behind him, a sketch book in one hand and a pencil in the other, stood Miss Drake, the governess. The girl gave as gracious a curtsey as she could manage with her hands full, while her face took on a faint tinge of pink.
    ‘Are you neglecting your duties, Miss Drake?’ Lucille was quick to take advantage of the girl’s obvious discomfort and she was pleased to see Phoebe Drake’s cheeks flush more deeply.
    ‘No, your ladyship. Master Rodney and Miss Eliza are taking their usual afternoon rest, just as Lord Pickhurst ordered. They’ve not been left unsupervised, Annie is in the nursery, and she knows where to send for me, should I be needed. I am here because Master Rodney has been learning the history of Knytte, and I thought